remembering can be painful

I know it was about five o'clock when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find my mother (of all people) standing in front me. I panicked, the mess behind me was proof of the life that I lead... The words spoken are irrelevant, but the pain was unbearable. She was worried when I didn’t come home and now she knew the reason why. I fucked up and she cried, it was her heart that broke…not mine. She begged me to see reason, begged me to see what the choices that I have been making were doing to me. She actually thanked God (her god not mine) that she didn’t have to see me everyday. Then she screamed and raged at me, her disappointment and pity etched on her face. The words that fell from her lips clawed their way under my skin slowly eating away at my already exhausted mind (I’d been up for…well for awhile anyway). She told me to pack my stuff as she whipped the mirror from the table and shattered it against the wall. (we were in the apartment, door closed) I raged back, told her to get out told her it was my life, told her I was sorry, but this was who I was… I made a mistake… And that was it, no more, no less. She looked into my soul, livid with my truths entangled in the lies… My eyes pleading with her to accept my words, my heart broke as she picked up her purse. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she stood up and walked to the door. She couldn’t control me, only love me and she couldn’t watch me do what I was doing… I can’t go home unless I’m clean…no excuses, no exceptions…